Seconds feel like hours. My chest is wound so tight, every breath in is needle sharp and painful but I can’t move. Can’t even think straight as I stare at Cain’s slumped body and his blood darkening the ground around him.
Before I could fully process what was happening, Dorian’s arms wrap around me and he’s lifting me off the ground. We’re running through the shipment yard so fast, the frigid cold air bites at my face and ears. Fear crawls through my chest as the distance between us and Cain grows. There’s no way we could just leave him.
“Elias has him,” Dorian says as if reading my thoughts, and at that second, Elias appears around a metal container, racing after us with Cain in his arms.
When we make it to the Town Car, Dorian opens the back door and then the front. “You’re going to have to sit on my lap for this drive, little girl.”
I’m still having a hard time finding my voice, so I only nod. He slides into the front seat near the driver and pulls me in close. Right then, Elias appears and lays Cain into the back seat, only to climb inside after him.
The door isn’t even closed when Dorian barks at the driver, “Step on it, Holmes.” And as if the older man’s dealt with situations like this before, he punches the gas pedal and we speed away.
Peeking over Dorian’s shoulder and into the back seat, I gasp in horror. Cain’s wounds look even worse this close. His skin is ghostly pale from the bloodloss, almost translucent, and his eyes are closed. I stare at his chest for any movement to hint that he could be alive but see none.
“Is-Is he breathing?” I ask, my voice coming out in a fearful squeak.
Dorian guides my face to look at him instead. “He’s going to be okay.”
But even I can hear the slight waver to his words. He isn’t so sure either.
Elias and Dorian exchange weighted looks, and my stomach sinks. Losing Cain just isn’t an option. It isn’t.
With his hands firmly on my hips, Dorian twists me to face forward again. “We are almost home,” he says to me as if all we need is to step one foot in the mansion and Cain would be right-as-rain again. As if it’s that simple.
“It’s coming… It’s coming…” a soft voice sings.
I glance down at the box in my hands, almost forgetting I was even holding it still. It vibrates in my grasp, and the relics’ eerie and muted song wafts through its seal and lock.
Since no one else has reacted to the sad drum beat or creepy lyrics, it seems only I can hear the strange music, like before. I lean in closer.
“It’s coming… Coming… Coming…”
Coming? What’s coming? I don’t understand.
As if understanding my thoughts, the relics continue their singing. “Death… Death… Death…”
Icy cold dread snakes up my spine.
Are they talking about Cain?